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    I am Ene and I live in Abuja. I wear expensive clothes and shoes, carry expensive bags, and I live in an expensive one bedroom apartment. My Instagram page is filled with semi-nude and sometimes nude pictures of me and my sleek body which I spend thousands of naira to maintain. I have a boob and a butt job, and I have had surgery where I took all the fat in my belly, to my butt so they look bigger and more natural, even though they are not. I have three piercings on my ear, a nose ring and a sexy tattoo on my ankle. You already have a picture of the kind of person I am, even though that is a stereotype, I can do all these things and still not be what you are thinking in your mind right now. Well, what you are thinking is correct, I am an Abuja Big girl or runs girl or whatever they call them these days. Mind you, I am not one of those dirty girls who stand on the road and solicit money for sex, neither do I coop up in hotel rooms watching the phone ring for customer, smbanu. I am classy and I go out with only the rich and powerful in Abuja. I want to take you on an amazing journey of my not so amazing lifestyle. All that glitter is not gold, baby.

    I was not always like this oh, I was a young girl of twenty-two, who had just finished her University education at the prestigious Obafemi Awolowo University where I came out with a first class. Yes, Ene is a first-class material, were you thinking I was a dunce? Everyone said Abuja was the place flowing with milk and honey, there was money to go around and trust me, I felt my first-class certificate could fetch me the dream life in that city where milk flows. I come from an average background, where my father gives us anything we wanted, except vacations abroad. So as a little girl I have always wanted the good life; the vacations abroad, the glitz and glamour like that of the WAGS or the Second Wives Club. Yes, I watch a lot of reality television like the aforementioned, and I see these women as living the dream life. It was the reason I worked hard in school to make a first class, because I thought with my brain, I could have the dream life. Sooner than later, I would be shoved into this harsh reality that, first class degree or even an education does not always amount to a good life.

    I used all the last dime on me to influence my NYSC posting to Abuja, and while serving, I submitted my CV in different government parastatals, even FIRS, where I heard the money flow because they generate their own income and do not wait for the government. But throughout my NYSC, I was not called for one single interview. I told my then chewing gum boyfriend, and he told me to remove my eyes from those places because this was Nigeria.

    “How do you mean by that” the naïve me asked.

    “In Nigeria, only the block head sons of senators and top-notch politicians get employed at those places” he replied me.

    “I have a first-class degree!” I exclaimed in exasperation.

    “It is what it is baby” he said resignedly.

    I did not want to believe this, so I pressed on. All my years of hard work in school had to count for something, right? Whenever I went out on opportune dates with people I perceive to be in the corridors of power, I would shove my CV in their faces, not minding how discourteous I was towards my date. But nothing yielded, my certificate did not matter, and yet I saw young girls driving flashy cars, living glam lifestyles. I do not even want to talk about Instagram where those girls put on pictures of their vacation abroad, their shoe closet that looks straight out of a magazine, or their bags that is nothing less than a million bucks.

    “Ene, are you just going to sit on your ass and end up a failure?” I would ponder, lying on my flat bed in the dilapidated corpers’ lodge.

    The pressure from home was anything but, my parents were waiting for me to be done with my service year so that I could stop pestering them for cash and fend for myself. You know, the only thing my first-class degree could get me was a teaching job where I was not paid a dime by the PPA, and the government allawee was as sporadic as PHCN. I did not know what they called ‘pressure’ until I finished my service year. My parents waited for me to announce to them that I had a job, and it was like they would grow white beards while waiting.

    One fateful day, I went to visit Lizzy, a fellow corp. member, and a member of my fellowship. She was living in her own furnished self- contain apartment and I thought she had rich parents. While I was in her place, I was even planning to pass the night there because her bed was way more comfortable than mine. A neighbour of hers that lived in the block of flats opposite her apartment came calling on her. The old man saw me and was obviously taken, as he could not stop licking his mouth. Prior to my mistress days, I was still a beautiful girl, even though I was not as tushed up as I am now.

    “Fine girl, how are you?” he asked and immediately turns to my friend, Lizzy and asks her why she did not let him know she had a friend as beautiful as I am. He got my number from Lizzy as I was reluctant to give him and promised to call. After he left, I scolded Lizzy for giving that man my number, and that was when she started to tell me things I did not know.

    “Look at you, do you know where that man works, he works in FIRS, didn’t you say you submitted a CV there. This is Abuja oh, you need connection to get your feet in the door” she said, gesticulating with her red painted nails that looked like claws.

    “I don’t understand what you are saying, so if he works in FIRS, I should give him my CV?” I asked (for my church mind).

    “Leave CV matter first, give the man what he wants and whatever you ask him he will give you. I see you crying for money and I use to tell myself that, if I had the boobs and ass you have, with this creamy skin of yours, Abuja men go hear am for my hand. Like this gan, them dey hear am” she went on to tell me about her poor parents in Kaduna, and how men have been footing her bills and sponsoring the lavish lifestyle she lived since she stepped foot in Abuja.

    “Milk and honey flows here, even fura. But you must be wise to tap into it. I will show you the way, only if you are ready to join the league of Abuja big girls” she concluded.

    We locked gazes, I stared into the depths of her eyes, as she stared into mine…….

    The next episode will drop soon, keep checking…

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    The right man for the job but bigots of the north will not see that. They are co...

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    Beautiful song, makes my heart melt cuz i like when my man means to spoil me wit...

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    He's the man for the job...

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